Foreign Yet Familiar
by TheSummerNightingale
Summary: Half a year after the events of the Chamber of Secrets, Gilderoy Lockhart is struggling to get a grip on his life and his memory, forgetting things from his name to events that happened a few minutes ago. His entire life is now based on a category of ideas and actions that he's dubbed as "foreign yet familiar". And the worst part is that he hasn't a clue that he is struggling.


****Written for the QLFC Round 4****

****Written for the Beginning, Middle, and End Challenge ****

****\- Beginning: 6, Gilderoy Lockhart****

****\- Middle: 16, character punches someone/something****

****\- End: 52, birthday****

****Written for the Spell, Curse, and Charm Competition: ******_**Obliviate**_**

****Hope you all enjoy!****

* * *

About three hours before sunrise, Gilderoy Lockhart decided he was going to escape the Janus Thickey Ward of St. Mungo's.

He'd just darted up and out of bed in the middle of a nightmare, one that plagued his dreams more often than not. Like everything else he'd experienced from the time he'd been admitted into St. Mungo's (the time before that was very hazy, though he did remember a young chap named Ronald), the dream was foreign but had a tinge of familiarity that he was unable to track down.

The dream itself was extremely vague, and Gilderoy could never grasp more than a few ideas that the dream proposed except for one: the chute.

The dream branded the image, the feeling, and the essence of that dark slimy chute into his mind in both his sleeping and waking hours. He hadn't the slightest clue where it came from, but he had to suppress a shudder every time the pipe popped into his thoughts, as if a foreboding memory stood along with it. But he never forgot it; the chute was often all he could think about.

He didn't exactly know why he dreamt of the chute, but he was quite certain he'd never seen it in his dreams until he had found himself in St. Mungo's approximately half a year ago. He was convinced that it was something about the ward he was in that grasped and twisted his mind around, but his Healer, Miriam Strout, didn't agree.

"Rubbish," she'd admonish every time he approached her about it. "Perhaps it was something about your past. But this ward is certainly not cursed and does _not_account for images of pipes in your dreams, Gilderoy."

He never believed her and still firmly placed the blame on the hospital room he was confined to.

Now, breathing heavily while sitting on his hospital bed, Gilderoy made the bold decision to leave the ward and get to the bottom of it once and for all.

If he could prove that the ward was the culprit behind his nightmares, why, he could show Healer Strout he was right. The hospital would then praise him for his knightly efforts to find the cause of his ailment, and, who knew - he could be in the _Daily Prophet _and maybe even become famous!

He'd always wanted to be famous.

Gripping the sides of his bed, Gilderoy awkwardly swung his legs over the edge, dangling them over the side. The free feeling of his feet suspended in the air prompted a giggle to escape from his mouth.

He slapped a hand on his bedside table, knocking down his fine peacock quill and effectively crumpling some fan mail he'd received recently (for what, he did not know). The sound made him jump, and doubt started to creep into his mind as he squinted in the dark room.

"Ooh, scary," he trilled to himself before hopping to the floor.

Healer Strout would not come for six more hours - she knew he liked to sleep in and did not fancy being woken up earlier than nine.

Gilderoy let himself out of his ward, strangely aware of the darkness closing in around him. For a brief moment, he wondered why he was up and about, until the dark reminded him of the pipe which reminded him of his mission.

He'd been doing that lately. Forgetting. He didn't understand why, but Healer Strout always turned soft and sympathetic whenever he needed help remembering his name or how to write his signature. Funny though, that he never forgot the pipe.

With a careless shrug, Gilderoy left the door open and sauntered down the hallway. He didn't know where he was going, or how to get out the hospital for that matter, but that was of little concern. He had ways of getting Healers to do what he pleased. Female Healers especially. They always had this pitying expression on their face, and he found that he could make them blush by a simple smile.

Unfortunately, it was not a female Healer that spotted him strolling through the fourth floor corridor as if he was taking a walk through Diagon Alley at three in the morning.

"Mr. Lockhart! Where do you think you're going?"

Gilderoy slowly spun on his heel and put on a dazzling smile. "Why hello, Healer Warren," he greeted. The young male Healer crossed his arms firmly and Gilderoy wondered what made Healer Warren so suspicious and unfriendly around him.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" Healer Warren inquired shortly.

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" Gilderoy stated mildly. "Ah, well. I'm up and about anyway, and I don't particularly want to get back. You won't tell anyone I've been up, will you?"

Healer Warren stepped forward, unfolding his arms. "Mr. Lockhart, you're under strict orders not to leave the ward unless with Healer Strout."

Unable to formulate a witty response, he petulantly said, "But I felt like it."

"That simply is no excuse." The Healer sighed and reached out to steer Gilderoy towards his ward, but before he could, Gilderoy's hand lashed out and hit the Healer's forearm.

"I'll do whatever I want," Gilderoy said rather waspishly, but he was more irritated at the fact that he suddenly found that he could not remember why he left the ward in the first place.

Healer Warren's black eyes glinted as he drew back his arm. "You can't, Mr. Lockhart. Your wand's been taken away. You can't perform any more Memory Charms on unsuspecting people."

Gilderoy furrowed his eyebrows, genuinely confused. "Memory Charms," he repeated, the words falling into his ever-growing category of "foreign yet familiar". "What are those? Why would I use them?"

The Healer only condescendingly shook his head and pointed towards his room again. "Back. I'm calling Healer Strout to come in three hours, earlier than normal."

Slightly terrified of Healer Warren's strict tone, Gilderoy turned and rushed back to his ward, smoothing his wavy blond hair. "He wasn't very kind," he murmured to himself. He shrugged. "Oh well. The dark was rather scary anyway. Why did I decide to leave this room?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, distractedly practicing how to hold a quill, since Healer Stout was aiding him in the art of writing and she mandated that he practiced the basics at least twice an hour.

He was still poring over the wonders of holding a quill when the door to his room burst open at six o'clock on the dot.

At first, only the top of Healer Stout's head could be seen above two large bouquets of flowers. She held a large lilac box in her hands as she merrily said, "Good morning, Gilderoy!"

"Good morning!" he replied happily.

"Healer Warren says you left the ward earlier," she said sternly, setting the flowers and box on his bedside table. She brushed off her hands and said, "You know you can't do that. It's for your own safety."

Gilderoy blinked at her. "I left?" Shaking his head, he said, "I don't remember leaving. Did I really?"

Miriam Stout smiled sadly at him, nodding. "You did."

"Huh. I forgot," he stated, scrunching up his pretty face in concentration.

She contemplated his expression as he tried to remember what he'd done in the morning. Miriam had once been an avid fan of Gilderoy Lockhart, before it was revealed to the public that he was a fraud by all means. When she had been assigned to look over him, she hadn't liked the idea of watching over the man who had cheated and lied to the entire Wizarding World.

But when she had realized just how helpless Gilderoy was without his memory, her judgement cleared. Lockhart had no knowledge of what he'd done. He didn't remember any of his Memory Charm scandals, and certainly did not know how he came to be in St. Mungo's. And now, he just reminded her of a lost child - unsure and unable to function without help.

Shaking her head with sympathy, she put on a bright smile. "Gilderoy… do you know what today is?"

He ran a hand through his blond waves of hair. "Er… something that makes you bring up flowers and a box? The flowers smell nice, by the way."

"It's January 26!" Miriam exclaimed.

Gilderoy gave her a blank stare, his smile still fixed on his face. "That's wonderful," he said vaguely.

Healer Stout's face fell a little. "You don't remember?" she asked gently.

Gilderoy shook his head, for once at a loss for words. It frustrated him, that she was looking at him like that.

"It's your birthday, Gilderoy! And these are presents from your fans!" She opened the lilac box in front of him, revealing a large vanilla cake, with the words, "Happy birthday! Love, Your Biggest Fan Gladys" iced in lavender.

"Want to eat it for breakfast, or save it?" she asked, a grin permanently plastered on her face.

Gilderoy contemplated this choice before deciding, "Eat it."

Miriam watched as the full-grown man dived into the cake like a hyperactive child. Not for the first time, she wondered if he had truly forgotten that he had left the ward that morning. It didn't seem possible that Gilderoy, once a "refined" man, could not remember something that happened three hours prior.

In all her years working at St. Mungo's, she didn't think that there was anything nearly as tragic as memory loss.

Gilderoy smiled happily at her, and she gave a cheery grin back. But as she got to work, she couldn't help but feel so very sorry for the man in front of her. Gilderoy Lockhart, formerly a member of the Order of Merlin, Third Class; Honorary Member of theDark Force Defense League; and five-time winner ofWitch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, had forgotten every single one of his titles, his life, and his identity.

And for what seemed like the hundredth time, Miriam wondered what, without his identity or past to guide him, Gilderoy spent his time thinking about.


End file.
